


Stray Wishes

by Keltoi



Category: Destiny (Video Games)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 20:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29922183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Keltoi/pseuds/Keltoi
Summary: "Some of 'em survived. I know a fellow says he saw a wish dragon on Jupiter a ways back."Collection of one-shots from differing perspectives.
Kudos: 9





	1. In which a Flayer meets a Dragon

9th of April, 3742   
Ovda Regio, Aphrodite Terra, Venus

Lightning flashed through the toxic clouds above. The air stank of sulfur. Rocks of the newly-revealed shore sizzled with briny water and angry radiolaria pools.

"Tide won't be out forever. We have a couple of hours at best."

"That's long enough."

"Is it? These guys can get tricky. It'll lead you on a wild goose chase."

"I know where to go. I know what to ask. I know when to leave."

"If you're sure..."

Aartoc was more than sure. His conviction had been hammered into his mind with ancestor-strength. It glared out of his eye and razed the rocks before him, lighting the way and banishing overly-ambitious tendrils of Vex milk with flashes of psychokinetic energy.

He wasn't supposed to be here. His posting in Meridian Bay was left vacant. His place in the glorious metaconcert lay empty. And he didn't regret leaving it all behind. Not yet. There would be plenty of time for retrospective thinking later.

Maybe.

He followed the path outlined by the fingers of his descendants and found a washed-out cave. It was too dark inside to make out whatever lurked within. Even his mind couldn't breach the gloom. With a steady breath, Aartoc knelt down and set his longbow across mucky ground. It gleamed a deep metallic-blue; twin horns gleaned from a Hobgoblin husk, wrapped in titanium wire and strands of datalattice. The string was formed of shavings he'd shorn from ship hulls over centuries of service, and it was thin enough to cut through bare skin and flesh.

He fitted an arrow of solid Arc-thought into the bow and left it be, undrawn. His present was too precarious to not take precautions.

Aartoc waited. He listened to the distant waves of the Venusian sea. He heard the calls of distant leather-winged birds searching for fish. He felt the earth below tremble as yet another volcano, some many miles away, belched a great column of ash and smoke.

The world around him was volatile. It was no Brand. But he was at peace nonetheless. After a short time of no change in the cave, he carefully removed his halo-crested helmet and set it down beside his bow. Aartoc raised his head and let his Y-pupil shine into the shadows.

"I am here," he said softly. "And there is much I wish to know."

"Wish?" The cave unfurled like a collapsing tent. The massive, rickety wings folded up and slowly, with sickening cracks, pulled against a most unnatural body. The dragon was mottled bronze, and five eyes stared back at him over a needle-thin beak. It stalked forward on six long legs, little more than spider-like stilts tipped with blunted claws. "You wish?"

Aartoc closed his eye, briefly, and called on his ancestors for guidance. "I want."

"To want is to wish." The dragon became a rainbow-feathered serpent. It slithered forward. There was a rustle from where its scaly belly crawled over rocks and mud. "What do you desire, o aspirant mine? Freedom? Power? A goblet in which to pour out your most treasured thoughts?"

Aartoc laughed softly. He held up a broken binding clamp, stained with old blood. "Here is my freedom." His eye flashed as he brought up his hands to cradle his head. "Here is my power." Finally, he brushed his fingers over his longbow, still armed with a crackling spike of Arc. "Here is my Y-goblet."

The serpent became a lithe beast covered in gleaming white keratin. A bladed snout hovered over him. Jagged fangs jutted out on either side of the narrow jaws. "A threatened freedom. A lonesome power. An insult to goblets everywhere."

"The goblets were stripped from my ancestors. We found solace in the bow."

"A violent solace."

"A necessary solace."

"Is it your bow that is restrained by wires or is it your mind? Ask, o Flayer mine, and receive your answers."

Aartoc took a deep breath. He rubbed his arms in a vain attempt to coax the tension out of them, but his body still feared the dragon's bite. "My question is this: where next?"

The dragon tilted its head. "Where do you wish to be next?"

 _Brand_. "I do not know."

Thunder roared. The dragon stretched a dark wing out over Aartoc. A hissing rain fell. Rocks sizzled and melted around them. "You do, but you hesitate to say it."

"To say it would be to invite your hunger."

"My hunger was already invited. No, it is my fangs you fear." The dragon chuckled. "What _both_ of you fear."

There was no hiding it, yet that was no surprise. Aartoc's helmet wobbled. A small metal orb swam out from beneath it and blinked at the both of them with a single blue eye. "You knew I was there," it said to the dragon. The beast, for its part, pulled back its lips in a dreadful smile.

"Indeed I did."

"Are you going to eat me?"

"Are you going to make a wish?"

"I... no. But I have a question of my own."

"Speak it."

Tresk paused. Aartoc could feel his nervousness keenly. The Ghost gathered his confidence together. It was a writhing, unwilling thing. He was more accustomed to fear. "How do I bring my Guardian back?"

"She has fallen," the dragon observed, "to the sting of a sharpened thorn."

Little Tresk took a mock-breath. "Nothing I do works! She's... She's lost to me, but it can't be, I'm still here! I should be able to bring her back!"

"Do you wish to bring her back?"

The Ghost balked. "N-no. I..." He turned to Aartoc. "This is dangerous. It's obviously not going to help us."

A melodic hum emanated from the dragon's chest. It swiveled its neck and prodded Aartoc's side with its nose. "Will you strike a bargain?"

He lifted his head. "I am prepared, yes."

"Make your wish."

"I wish to have the power to undo a curse."

"You are accursed."

"The Garden speaks to my mind, but it cannot give. Only take. And it has taken too much."

"I wish I knew how to bring back my Guardian," Tresk miserably added.

The dragon laughed. Then it burned away, flesh becoming golden flames. Aartoc hastily put his helmet back on and Tresk disappeared in a flash of Light. The dying dragon collapsed into the mud and convulsed once, twice, never again. Aartoc reached into its ribcage and removed a tiny bone about the length and width of a finger.

It whispered: _I will show you where this curse ends. Follow my voice, o couriers mine._

Aartoc packed the bone away into a pocket. He lifted his bow, scanned the horizon, and noted, "The tide is coming in."

"We shouldn't be here when it does." Tresk's voice was scarce more than a whisper, though his troubled thoughts were loud enough. Aartoc stilled them with a gentle mental caress.

He marched back the way he'd come.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AN: I like longfics, but this ain't one. It's more of a collection of one-shots based on whatever prompts I think up and like enough to write about in what spare time I have to burn. There's likely going to be a lot of different perspectives, from Guardians to alien races to (maybe) eldritch Hive gods.
> 
> It might, might, be a companion piece to my Eliksni-centred fic Winter, but there's not going to be anything that necessitates reading it. Probably.


	2. Road Home

He didn't know why he was drawn to the little pile of bones. Not until his shell had opened up and his Light spilled out. Oh, but he realized it just as the bones got up. Except they weren't bones at that point. They were flesh and bone garbed in grey clothes.

They were a person.

No. Not just a person.

A child.

"Oh no," Ghost said.

The child looked at him, wide eyes full of wonder and confusion.

First plan of action: be cordial and don't panic!

"Hi," he said.

"... Hi..." The child shyly answered. "Wh-what... are you?"

"I'm a Ghost," he said, mustering all his pride. Which was, admittedly, not much. Hard to find some pride in being a mud-caked, scratched up Ghost with a twig stuck between his fins. "Actually, I'm _your_ Ghost."

The child didn't understand. Or rather, understood it differently. "You're dead?"

"I, uh, no? Oh! No, I say Ghost with a capital 'G'! Not a spirit. Not me. I'm a piece of the Traveler, actually!"

"Traveler?"

"... Yes..." The memory loss. He hadn't considered that. He thought that, maybe, his Guardian would already know. Every other Guardian he met did. But no, the lack of memories would have covered everything to do with the Traveler too. _I'm so stupid!_

The child, a boy of no more than nine Earth-years, reached out tentatively. Ghost seized up... then let go as warm fingers brushed against his shell.

He swore, in that moment, he would get his Guardian back to the City intact. And he'd find someone, _anyone_ , who knew what to do. Because he sure didn't. Human children were beyond his expertise.

His Guardian was a child.

His Guardian was a _child_.

The panic came rushing back.

* * *

The roads of Australis could never be considered safe. There was never enough cover. And the nearest spaceport was a hundred miles away. Hopefully far enough to get from under the Kings' jamming field.

He didn't rate their chances of survival high. Getting through unscathed? Impossible. But he made a promise.

The boy, his Guardian, was named Quentin. Not because that was his name when he was alive, but because that was what Ghost listed out a bunch of names and the boy chose one with a smile. A genuinely and innocent smile.

That was novelty. Ghost treasured it.

It crushed him to say what he had to say next. "We have to be quick, Quentin. We have to quiet. If we don't, the Kings will catch us."

"The Kings?"

He found himself bobbing in the imitation of a nod. "Fallen Kings. They're pirates and killers. We can't let them catch us."

Quentin's easygoing joy was quickly replaced by fear. "But... why?"

Why indeed? How to summarize two hundred years of history into something short and simple enough for a recently-resurrected child? "They don't like us."

"Why don't they like us? If we're nice to them, maybe they'll-"

"No!" Ghost yelled. Regret flooded his core the moment he said it. More softly, "No. We can't let them see us. Please. They will _hurt_ us."

Quentin nodded fearfully. He was a smart boy. Innocent, but smart.

If Ghost had a heart, he imagined it would have crushed into grisly pulp.

* * *

They walked, and quickly. They used trees and rocks where they could, keeping off the road proper but moving parallel to it. Quentin was small - the Kings might miss him because of that.

Or it might encourage the four-arms to come with screams in their throats and blades in hand.

When Quentin grew almost too tired to move, they found a rusted wreck of a car to sleep in. Ghost kept watch. The night was quiet, peaceful, and altogether terrifying. Ghost didn't trust the quiet. Didn't trust the peace. The terror, though, that was a useful tool. It kept him alert.

Nothing bothered them, bar a few persistent bugs attracted to the glow of his eye. They were left in peace.

Quentin woke up slowly, a groggy mess full of tired aches. He looked down at his abdomen with visible confusion. "I think I'm hungry," he said.

Ghost gave him a nutrient block. It was dry and bland, or so he'd been told, but it was all he had to give. Quentin wolfed it down and looked for more. There wasn't any.

"Do you need water?" He had a full bottle with him. Humans needed lots of water. It was more important than food.

Quentin nodded. He drank until only half the bottle remained. Ghost stored it away in his digital vault. Soon, he reckoned, it would be filled with weapons, armour, and trophies of past battles.

Then he looked at his Guardian. And he hoped that that wouldn't be the case. Ever.

* * *

They found trouble halfway to Brisbane. Or trouble found them. Ghost expected a King, or maybe a wayward Devil, but instead they found a person. Just... standing in the middle of the road.

Ghost almost cheered. That's when he saw the chain.

A chain of dead Ghosts.

His good mood died away. He dematerialized himself and reassured Quentin with soft whispers. "I'm still with you."

"Who's that?"

"I don't know. I think we should... Nevermind, he's seen you."

"What do I do?"

"You can't outrun him. Just stay where you are. Don't take your eyes off him."

The stranger stalked forward. He had a knife in his hand. His clothes were all rags and metal strips. He stopped only a few feet from Quentin and looked down with hard, unfriendly eyes. He wore a covering over his lower face and a hood. A few tufts of rough gray hair peeked out.

"Where is it?" The stranger demanded in a harsh, raspy voice.

"Wh-who are you?" Quentin trembled.

"Where. Is. It?" The demand was repeated, but a dangerous edge seeped into the stranger's voice. There was something about his eyes that made Ghost nervous.

As if the chain wasn't enough.

Without waiting for an answer, the stranger roughly grabbed Quentin by the shoulder and knelt down. He held the knife very, very close to the child's face.

"Your Ghost better come out, or I'm going to start cutting. Do you hear me, Ghost? You have three seconds."

Ghost went back into panic mode.

"One."

Quentin was a Guardian, he could recover- _He's a child!_

"Two."

"Please no!" Quentin tried to squirm out of the stranger's grip, but it was impossible. The man was too strong.

"Thre-"

Something big collided with the stranger. Something big and roaring and with too many arms. The two monsters - one figurative and the other very much real - tumbled across the cracked asphalt road.

" _RUN!_ " Ghost screamed.

Quentin ran. Tears spilled down his cheeks and he choked out pitiful sobs, but he ran as fast as he could. The bellows and shrieks behind them began to fade as he ran on and on.

"Don't look back," Ghost hoarsely whispered. "Don't look back."

* * *

He felt like a failure. Ghost hated that feeling. He hated being the problem.

Quentin trudged tiredly along the road. The tears had long-since dried and the sobs died away, leaving him silent and unresponsive.

And it was Ghost's fault.

He thought that maybe they should find a place to rest, but Quentin wouldn't be able to sleep. Not after what happened. They walked until Quentin could walk no further and he fell.

Ghost phased into being and settled onto a nearby fence. "You need rest. Maybe there's a..." He looked around. Nope, nothing. No old dead cars, no broken down buildings, no collapsed trees. Nothing but intact trees, small pancaked boulders, and an ancient fence rotting from the inside out. No cover.

The Fallen were going to find them. And Quentin was going to die.

Ghost's fins drooped. "I'm..." _Sorry_ , he wanted to say, but he never got around to it. Because a mechanical scream split the air.

Pike!

No.

Sparrow!

Then his thoughts returned to the stranger from before. "We need to hide."

Quentin didn't move. Couldn't, really. The boy was too tired.

Ghost flew over to him. If his Guardian was stuck, then he wouldn't abandon him. Not this time.

The Sparrow flew over the crest of the hill and swerved along the road, coming to a stop a stone's throw distance away. Then a second Sparrow arrived. And a third.

It was a fireteam.

"What in the..." The first began. He switched off the engine and the Sparrow dropped to the ground with a _clunk_.

"Hey!" Someone else snapped. "Careful with that!"

The first person, a Hunter with a ragged red cape, ignored his fellow and approached. Slowly.

Quentin's breath caught in his throat. The Hunter stopped and held up his empty hands. "Hey, there. Look? I'm a friend."

Ghost rose up to eye level. "We thought the same earlier. Wasn't the case."

The Hunter looked at him, then at Quentin. Then back to him. Finally, he asked, "This kid yours?"

"... If you hurt him, I swear I'll-"

"No one's gonna hurt him, lil' guy." The Hunter turned around. "Ain't that right, Whiteclaw?"

The other person, another Hunter, grunted. "'Course not."

"Anahera?"

The third Guardian, an Exo and yet another Hunter, looked rather affronted. "That's such a stupid question. Why would I?"

"Someone tried to. Earlier." Ghost shivered.

All Hunters looked at him. The first cursed. "Cyrell... Damn him. Someone should put a bullet in him."

The Exo dismounted - more carefully than the first Hunter - and approached with empty hands. "Hey, uh... what's your name?"

Quentin just trembled.

Ghost answered for him. "We went with Quentin. It's as good a name as any, and he liked it."

The Exo smiled. Her optics brightened. "Hello, Quentin. I know you've been through a long day, but you're in good hands now. We're the good guys."

Whiteclaw snorted. The first Hunter shot her an annoyed look.

"But we can't stay here. Kings are bound to come this way sooner or later. Listen, we've just finished a job and were thinking of heading back to the City. Want to come with us?"

Quentin didn't say anything. But he nodded. That was good.

Maybe Ghost hadn't entirely messed up.

Anahera beamed. "Have you ever been on a Sparrow?"

A head shake: no.

"Want to try it? It's easier than walking, I can tell you that much."

A nod. A very, very hesitant nod. Quentin looked at Ghost.

"It's alright," he said. "These people are good."

"Weeeeell..." The first Hunter drawled, looking directly at Whiteclaw. "That's... debatable."

The latter growled. "Shut it, Lush."

Anahera sighed. "Both of you... Sweet Traveler above." She stood and offered Quentin a hand. "Ready to go?"

Quentin hesitated.

"It's a straight shot to Brisbane, little fella. It'll be quick and easy. No trouble at all."

Ghost hovered close to her face. "I'll hold you to that."

She met his glare with a cool look, then broke out into a hearty chuckle. "You're lucky, kid. You've got a good Ghost."

He didn't feel like a 'good Ghost.' Not after the day they had.

"Come on. Daylight's burning, and Fallen love the dark. Let's not stick around."


	3. Cost of time

15th of September, 3748   
Fleetbase Korus, Phobos

Dust kicked up behind Interceptors. Cra'tar didn't think they'd get far. Best the Psions could hope for was another couple of hours of living. Transports were either shot or gone - nothing left to get off their forsaken rock. But he didn't care. Cra'tar braced his shield against the hanger's door and held. Just to buy the little 'uns some time.

Time was all they had, in the end. Time to breath and shout and fight and laugh. Time to live. Few hours, few years - what did it matter?

Enough to keep him at the door, apparently.

"Radio's gone," Tiliq reported miserably. He tossed aside a dull grey object: their last communicator.

Cra'tar jutted his head towards the open fields of grey rock. "Get a move on."

The Psion operant shook his head. Shook his arms too, but that was pure fear. "Can't leave. No point."

"Every point. Get out there. Go live for as long as you can."

"And you?"

"I'll hold the line."

A scream split the air. It wasn't Cabal. Not Psion either. Something... other.

"They're coming," Tiliq whispered. His whole body was trembling by then.

Cra'tar grunted. His helm's HUD fizzled out. Battlenet was collapsing around them; the Dark King was tearing it asunder. It filled his ears with static shrieks. "Go. Move."

"No." Tiliq hefted his rifle. It was half his size. "I'm... I'm with you."

"I'm dying here, flea. Get hopping."

"We're all dying."

"Some sooner than others. I'm telling you to hop."

"Can't shake me loose." Tiliq took up position behind the shield. He was stretched taut with terror.

"I could kick you," Cra'tar told him.

"You could. It might be quicker."

"Oh, it will be. Hear that? Hear _them_? That's our squad. And they're coming for us, flea. They're coming for our souls."

"My ancestors will protect me. I will see them soon."

Cra'tar huffed, unimpressed. "Forget your ancestors and leave. Now. That's an order."

"You can't think I'd just abandon you h-"

A dark shape hurtled around the corner ahead of them. Their former Bracus twisted around and settled her big glowing eye on them. Cra'tar's fingers tightened around his shield's handhold. "Guess no one's hopping now. Better buckle up flea, 'cause we're the line."

Muzzles flashed. Microrockets flew. The Bracus fell, but there were more behind her; a veritable horde of hungry stars in an ocean of black.

"We're the line," Tiliq whimpered.

Cra'tar laughed.


End file.
